


Chains

by trancer



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-26
Updated: 2009-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-17 23:56:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trancer/pseuds/trancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - The future Queen of England and her Mistress have some unfinished business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chains

She places dresses of different colors, different materials on the bed, trying to decide which one her Mistress would like best. Her hair, still damp from the shower, drips onto her shoulders, staining the black, silk robe wrapped loosely around her body.

She flits about her bedroom, stomach full of butterflies, hands trembling with nervous tension. It’s an unpleasant business, one she’s been in for far longer than she ever imagined. Her clientele runs the gamut - the rich, successful, powerful, from pop-stars to dignitaries, media moguls to oligarchs, male and female, young and old. But only one has a hold on her that reaches deep into her soul.

It’s been over a year since they’ve seen each other.

 _I need to see you.. tonight_ , she recalls the urgency in her voice over the phone, the need. She cancels her appointments for the next two days.

She sits at her vanity, carefully applying her makeup as she wonders which dress to choose. Her dragon, big as a house cat and just as temperamental, leaps onto the surface. Sitting on its haunches, it licks the back of a forepaw to wipe across its face. She attempts to shoo it away. It ignores her, blinking its large gold eyes superiorly at her.

The doorbell rings and the skip in her heart lasts so long she almost begins to wonder if it will ever beat again. She rushes from her bedroom to the front door, pausing a moment to straighten her hair with a hand.

She opens the door, bowing her head and curtsying. “My lady.”

“You know you don’t have to call me that,” Guinevere Pendragon, the future Queen of England responds with a soft smile. “I thought we were beyond such formalities, Morgana.”

“Are we?” Morgana’s grin is coy and playful. “I thought you were always rather fond of such formalities.”

“Hardly,” Gwen returns Morgana’s smile. Morgana steps aside and Gwen enters the spacious penthouse suite. She walks with her hands loosely clasped behind her back, dressed in a black, leather duster trimmed in dark blue and gold, signifying her status among the Knights of the Royal Guard. Underneath, she wears the casual uniform of the Guard, a dark blue tunic with gold buttons, leather trousers tucked into black, heavy boots with buckles and straps. She looks regal, handsome even, with her unbound hair flowing about her shoulders.

Gwen walks towards the large, plate glass windows overlooking London. Her eyes turn towards one of the many floating billboards hovering over the city displaying video of a smiling Gwen and Arthur walking hand-in-hand on the castle grounds. The words ‘Breaking News: Royal Wedding’ in bold letters displayed on the bottom of the screen.

Morgana joins her at the window. She feels underdressed, wrapping the robe about her tighter, wishing she could remember where she left the belt.

“I suppose you’ve heard?” Gwen’s eyes continue staring forward. “About the wedding?”

“Kinda hard not to.” Morgana turns her eyes away from the screen as Gwen and Arthur kiss, albeit chastely, on camera. The servant’s son with honey wheat hair and a cheeky grin, who charmed his way into nobility, became a Knight and was rewarded with Guinevere’s hand.

“I hate those bloody things. Uther,” Gwen notices Morgana’s wince at the mention of the King’s name, “he thinks they’re a necessary evil. I want nothing more than to shoot the bloody things out of the sky.”

Morgana chuckles. She presses a button and the glass turns opaque, the skyline nothing more than dark silhouettes on gray. “I’m surprised Uther passed on the chance to shoot something.”

“He’s not a tyrant, Morgana. Misguided? Yes. Pigheaded? Yes. But he’s done great things for this country, our country.”

“Like what?”

“He legalized same-sex marriages.”

“And yet, some of us still remain in the closet.” The double entendre hangs in the air.

“He’s my father, Morgana. My King, I will not turn my back on him.”

Morgana snorts derisively, tightening the arms crossed over her chest. “Is that why you came here? To extol the virtues of a man who wouldn’t think twice about throwing me and my people in prison if given half the chance?”

“No. I came here because I miss you, I miss US. And I hate this distance that’s grown between us. I hate the thought of..” her voice trails off.

“What?”

“I hate what you.. do for a living.”

“Well, it’s like you said, Uther’s done a many great things. It was HE who made it legal.”

“If it was money you wanted..”

“Here we go! You think I do this for money? If that was all I desired I would have quit a long time ago.” Morgana sees the twitch of anger flicker across Gwen’s face and Morgana’s smile is all self-satisfied gloat. “I am more powerful than I ever will be as a witch or could have been as your servant.”

“So it’s power you seek?” Gwen straightens, almost embarrassed at the topic of conversation. “Not pleasure?”

“Oh,” Morgana turns to Gwen, her eyes dark as coals. “I definitely seek both. You’d be amazed at the secrets that fall from a lover’s lips. A few choice words from me and I can destroy lives.. topple kingdom’s. I fuck them for the pleasure. I fuck them for the power.”

“Do you?” Gwen asks, and there’s a.. tone in her voice. One Morgana can’t quite put her finger on - neither formal nor informal. She used to be good at reading Gwen but distance and time has atrophied what used to come naturally.

“Do I what?”

Gwen steps towards Morgana and it’s instinctive, Morgana’s need to step backwards. Time and distance. It’s changed the woman before her, Morgana realizes. No longer the sweet girl who’s hair Morgana braided, or whispered Court gossip under darkened covers. Before her is Guinevere - daughter of Uther, Knight of the Royal Court, a warrioress and the Future Queen of England. The power radiating off her is both frightening and intoxicating. It forces Morgana back until she feels the cold of the glass against her back.

In a flash, Gwen’s hands are on Morgana, twisting Morgana around. Hands grasp around her wrists and place Morgana’s hands onto the glass. There’s space between Morgana and the glass but she can feel Gwen’s body pressed against hers, can feel her heat and already Morgana starts to pant.

Gwen’s hands slide down Morgana’s arms, the sides of her chest, pulling open Morgana’s robe and reaching up to cup both breasts.

“Do you enjoy fucking them?” Gwen whispers into Morgana’s ear. Her fingertips are calloused and coarse against the smooth flesh of Morgana’s breasts. Warrior’s hands. Morgana tries not to think about Gwen’s time on the front lines, despite Uther’s protestations, in the war against the Mages. Or what the King who hated magic would think if he knew his only child survived the mortar attack that killed 47 soldiers was due not to blind luck or God as Uther had proclaimed but the Protection Spell Morgana had cast.

“When I heard about what you were.. doing,” Gwen continues, “I thought about forcing you back to Camelot. Dragging you kicking and screaming, chaining you into the dungeon until you changed your ways.”

“Why didn’t you?” Morgana shivers because suddenly she‘s wetter than she‘s been in a long time.

“Because I know you,” she slides a hand down Morgana’s stomach, fingers stopping to play in the coarse curls at the apex of Morgana’s legs. “And no one forces Morgana Le Fay to do anything she doesn’t want to.”

“I’ve been chained to you for a very long time.” Morgana closes her eyes, presses her forehead against the glass because, fuck, Gwen’s fingers are _right there_ and the just the idea of Gwen inside her is enough to make about to pop.

“And still you continue to fuck other people.” Gwen squeezes her fingers, pinching Morgana’s nipple hard, smiling at the forced hiss gritted through Morgana’s teeth. She slides her other hand between Morgana’s legs, purring at the feel of already wet and swollen flesh. She times her strokes to the increasing roll of Morgana‘s hips. “Do they really pleasure you, Morgana? Do they make you moan and purr. Do they make you scream? Do they fuck you like they love you?”

Morgana whimpers at the sudden decrease in pressure as Gwen’s fingers slip out from between her legs, as the hand on her breast is removed. Just as quickly as before, Morgana is whipped around to face Gwen.

“Do they,” Gwen asks cupping Morgana’s face with her hands, “love you like I do?”

Morgana wants to say ‘no’, they don’t love her like Gwen. But Gwen crashes their lips together. It’s frantic and hurried, she juts her tongue into Morgana’s mouth at the tiniest hint of acquiescence.

Melting. Morgana feels like she’s melting. For all of her power, for all of her _strength_ , one touch from Gwen and she’s all weak at the knees, delicate flower.

Gwen’s hands slide down to cup Morgana’s ass. Gwen’s strong. Stronger than Morgana remembers. Morgana feels herself being lifted, legs wrapping around Gwen’s hips, Gwen moving them towards the bedroom.

They flop onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and connected lips. Morgana’s hands work hurriedly on Gwen’s jacket, she wants to feel Gwen, she _needs_ to feel Gwen even if it means not kissing Gwen for the few seconds that feels like a lifetime when they pull the tunic over her head.

Morgana notes how the time in the Guard has been good to Gwen. She’s lean and toned. Morgana immediately lifts her head to suckle a nipple. Gwen hisses, threading her fingers into Morgana’s hair.

She pulls back, forcing Morgana to release her nipple with a wet and almost painful pop. She pushes Morgana back onto the bed, hands grasping around Morgana’s wrists, pinning her to the mattress.

“Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

“Forever.”

“Forever.”

Gwen crashes their lips together. Before Morgana can even think of coming up for air, Gwen’s traveling down her chest, flicking her tongue across one nipple, then the other. Then she travels down Morgana’s stomach, her legs tossed onto Gwen’s shoulders. And then -

Gwen’s _there_ \- lips wrapping around Morgana’s clit, two fingers sliding into her pussy, suction and friction and wetness and heat. Morgana cries out, hands flailing about until they grasp the sheets in a white-knuckle, dear GOD where’d she learn to do THAT, grip.

Time and distance and too many years of wanting something she could never have collides within Morgana then explodes.

Gwen leisurely kisses her way back up Morgana’s body.

“I’m sorry,” Morgana whispers sheepishly. “I usually don’t come that quickly.” Gwen giggles. “What?”

“Do I look like the ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’ type? I’m not here for a quickie. We have all night.” Gwen shifts, sliding her hand between Morgana’s legs, smiling seductively at the hushed groan escaping Morgana’s lips. “And there’s nothing I love more than making you come.. all night long.”

**

Morgana stretches slowly, extending her arm across the mattress, opening her eyes once she realizes the space is now empty. She rises onto her elbows scanning the room until she stops on Gwen.

Gwen is facing one of the windows, quietly dressing herself, her hair still damp from the shower.

“Leaving already?” Morgana purrs.

“Yes,” Gwen states and Morgana straightens at the formality in Gwen’s tone. Gwen presses a panel button on the glass, changing it from opaque to clear. A floating billboard hovers close to the building, another video, another ‘breaking news’ story. The letters in the font - Assassination Plot Foiled - almost as tall as a person.

Gwen begins buttoning her jacket. “They‘re all dead.”

Morgana’s eyes snap towards the screen, images of men with guns dressed in riot gear, a familiar door being blasted open, bodies under white sheets with large splashes of red.

Gwen turns and steps towards the bed. She sits down on the edge and begins putting on her boots. Gwen’s voice is soft, almost sad, “We heard about the Coven’s plot to assassinate the King. I knew if it involved the Coven, it involved you.”

“You knew?” It suddenly registers. Morgana can feel the anger bubbling within her. The sting of betrayal flushing her cheeks. “It’s why you were so urgent to see me, isn’t it?”

“I knew I was the only person who could keep you away.”

“You used me!”

“I thought you *liked* being used!” Gwen snaps back. She turns her head away, quieting her anger. “I will do whatever is in my power to protect you, Morgana. But the protection of my aegis only extends so far. If Uther knew of your involvement..”

“If you’re protecting me from Uther then who’s going to protect me from you?” The weight of it hits her. The Coven was more than a group, they were her friends, the only family she’d known since leaving Camelot. She pulls her knees up to her chin, wrapping her arms around her legs. Her dragon, banished from the bedroom for the night, leaps onto the bed and curls around her feet.

“Morgana..” Gwen whispers quietly.

“Get out!”

“You’re right you know. You are chained to me. But those chains go both ways. You saved my life once. Maybe someday, you’ll come to realize I’ve done the same for you.” Gwen sighs, rising from the bed and walking over to pick up her coat off a chair. She pulls it on, taking the moment to gaze at Morgana one final time. She steps towards the door then stops. “I may be marrying Arthur but I will always be yours. And you will always be mine. The sooner you accept that, the better it will be.. for all of us.”

Morgana says nothing. She doesn’t need to see Gwen to realize she’s gone. She can feel the emptiness down to her bones.

She can also feel the chains.

END


End file.
